THE ANIMAL CRUELTY HANDBOOK
Image licensed through Adobe Stock. Edited.
I. Ortolan Bunting
As soon as you see me, net me. Keep me in a cage and jab out my eyes with a pair of golden nail scissors. Blinded, I’ll trick myself into gorging on your confettied grains, on the earlobes of red-fleshed figs. Double me in size just to drown me to death in a vat of Armagnac brandy (1). Into the Le Creuset roasting pot, I’ll go. It won’t take long, dear—six to eight minutes tops.
As soon as I ding! to perfection, I’ll be served alongside a napkin-turned-veil to preserve my aroma and hide your gluttony from the eyes of God. You will want to defy this tradition, break the covenant of one-swallowing, dash the part where I am eaten feet first, only my beak left behind. Alternatively, you can down me head first, wasting nothing, wanting God to see you unbidden as He bends an ear to the crunch of my wet, unliving bones (2), to the music of musculature splintering, as I, catatonically, am force-fed down your throat. The first tooth-burst of hot fat is in a word: sublime. As is the umami mouthfulness of my stomach-and-lung-brandied marinade. What comes to mind will equal liquid gaminess and hazelnuts, while the pleasure you’ll find in disappearing something already endangered will turn you on even more. Tell me, do I taste as good as $180 should taste?
After my final flavors disappear from your tongue, congratulate yourself with the ideal dessert companion: the infamous Armagnac brandy. The top-shelf choice will be a vintage Bhakta 50: only $399 a bottle, with a nose of crème brûlée, a palate of black pepper and cinnamon, and a finish of tobacco and apricot. You, darling, have ingested one of only thirty-thousand birds left.
II. Ikizukuri
Ikizukuri means “prepared alive,” means food that moves. It’s interactive as well: You get to choose your own adventure, choose me from the tank for the kill. Sujihiki knife in hand, Chef will gut me with a three-cut carving (3). I’ll be served on crystal beds of ice, decorated with cutely cut wasabi, yellow-petaled flowers, rice noodles, and lemon. The mastery, of course, is to fillet me without slaying me. So that, exposed heart beating, gills and tail balletically aflutter, my own jigsawed meat dances atop me (4). When the totality of my insides lay in pretty, clean cuts on my outsides, I am ready to eat.
My head—untouched, pristine—allows you the pleasure of watching the freshest sashimi you’ll ever find, gasp for breath. It allows for your taunt, whispered against my furious eyeblinks. I am your silver-skinned toy to tease; pitch your chopstick into my face. Pluck quickly, now, so I can watch (a most interesting fish-eye lens) as you eat, me still glittering wet from the tank. My fresh-baby flesh will tear clear, pinkishly from your teeth, flesh that looks like glass. Don’t forget my cheeks, my eyes: those little black grapes with newlywed veils across them. Peel away that sticky veil, sticky cornea. With a pop!, a burst like cherry tomato, the flavor of salted pork will greet you. Chew my eyeballs to their gelatinous finish.
I’d recommend a crisp, medium-bodied, and fruit-forward sake to pair. A white or sparkling wine, even a flavored vodka cocktail will also work beautifully.
III. Bob Veal
Clock two hours from the womb, and my young bovine meat is at its prime. It’s a short life, but for a reason: My underdeveloped, bite-sized muscles will prove the tenderest meat of all (5). To begin, I’ll be promptly ripped from mother, right after the first-formed pearl of colostrum. Mother’s milk, soft as rain with all the right vitamins to protect her baby. No more milk for a newborn calf who belongs in fillets on a Christmas platter.
Wide-eyed and newly orphaned, I’ll be raised in isolation, confined to a crate no bigger than my body. Immobility equals succulence, equals a soft, near deliquescing chew. What’s worse, they’ll ply me with synthetic milk tasting nothing of mother, but of chemicals. Where, starved from mother, deprived to death of nutrients, my freshly slaughtered flesh will wink and blink a prized anemic white.
After I’m strung up on hooks looking pretty, looking smart, the best cuts will come from my legs. Ask for the veal hip—it’ll drive your butcher crazy—there is but one piece in every leg. Three pounds at most, it’s the best kept secret in town. After a quick tidy up and trimming of any gristle, I’ll be butterflied with a boning knife (6). Across the grain, I cut like butter.
On Christmas Eve, paint me in egg wash, Italian breadcrumb, and bam!, I’m prepped for the Cuisinart CSK-150 skillet. I look extra toothsome garnished with lemon and fresh, flat-leaf parsley. (Or try melted butter and capers if you prefer.) A full-bodied red will bring out my mild, velveteen flavor. Perhaps a Californian zinfandel or an earthy pinot noir.
IV. Woman
At auction, you’ll find the pick of the lot: Designer women parade around their pens in high heels and barely there triangles of fabric (7). They even wear labels, documenting where their meat comes from. Market value is calculated by age (the younger the better), skin color (the lighter the better), and the scientific ratio of beauty (8). Everyone knows you eat with your eyes first. Logically, the more beautiful and symmetrical the animal, the more psychologically pleasing its meat will taste.
The ratio of beauty is an old school method, tried and true from the golden age of Renaissance where the perfect face is dissectible in exact thirds. (Measurements from the hairline to between the eyes, from between the eyes to the bottom of the nose, and from the nose to the bottom of the chin should be equidistant. Additionally, ear length should correspond to nose length, as should the width of each eye to the distance between the eyes.) (9)
Don’t bother with any of those wild, rascally women you see out in public, even if they seem too good to be true. These women are known for their deceitful use of fat injections and Botox, chemical peels, and hair dye that will taste just as horrible as synthetic milk. Wrinkles do not sell at auction; wrinkles themselves are diseases that women succumb to as soon as their meat goes rancid. Cast away those sucked lemon rinds to give way to those with unwilting flesh.
When the auction starts, you’ll catcall your chosen woman over to you. The most flattering compliments will get you furthest. The woman is most aroused to hear things such as “Smile!” “Bend over!” and “Let me hear you scream!”
Beckoned by the currency of wolf whistles and compliments, the woman will be reminded that it exists to be living food. Its breasts and hips are made to be bitten. The skin between its toes provides a tasty snack. Everything about this animal is an invitation for you to poke through its holes. Woman is the least dangerous game of all.. It is the object of appetite, the apex of gastronomic rapture.
Once your Miss America is cornered, it must be felled for the slaughter. At this point, double-check it is of the right maturity. An older woman will have tougher meat and higher ratios of gristle. There is no woman—girl—child too young for butchering.
Another important note: Check if the woman is bleeding. You will have to wait several days if so, as this will contaminate its carcass. As a rule, it is easiest if you leave feelings and conscience out of this job or else you may end up botching it.
Before you move forward, cut out its tongue. The voice is the most annoying part of this animal; it is either screaming or telling lies. Once muted, you’ll want to mark it for parts. Not every inch will be prime meat. Just know, there is value in experimenting with different sections.
Locate the euthanasia zone. The head is an excellent choice because it will not ruin any of the edible parts of the body. Just as with bob veal, you may want to restrain the woman. Or, like the ortolan, you can put it in a cage.
Make sure your weapon of choice will get the job done quickly. A Kershaw CQC 10K Emerson 6030 is optimal. Above the eyes, at the temple, or the back of its head, “x” marks the spot. (10)
Cut its throat at an angle, out and away from you, mimicking the swiftness of an Itamae (11). In one clean slice, both the carotid and jugular arteries should sever. If its legs start moving, don’t worry. In brain death, most animals will give it a last-ditch effort. At this point, you’ll need to bleed its body, so the blood doesn’t coagulate, causing the meat to go rancid.
Remove the head and arms, keeping your blade in the cartilage so everything stays intact. Slit the Achilles tendon and heel. Remove the legs. Skin it, separating hide from flesh and leaving as much fat as possible (that’s where all the flavor is). Now, the viscera can be removed. The anus. Sever any tissue and do not rupture the bladder. Heart and lungs can be taken out next (12). Then, with a stainless-steel serrated bone saw, cut the rib cage in half with your best toothy jag. Finally, trim off any bruised pieces of flesh. (13)
Age the carcass to your desired flavor. After a week or so, you’ll quarter its body with a large Wüsthof cleaver, moving from the rear toward the “head.” (14) The rump will make a nice round steak dinner for two, or perhaps a tasty roast. Trim flank steaks away from its stomach and sides, saving any of that liquid-gold fat if you enjoy rendering your own. At the top of the back, you’ll cut sirloin steaks. Beneath the backbone is the meat that makes up the tenderloin and top sirloin (the filet mignon). Make sure to leave those sections unimpaired.
Forward from those, you’ll get your porterhouse, T-bone, and New York strip steaks. If you are keen on rib steaks, go back to the saw, but leave the bones in. Make sure to separate the front of the leg—or the brisket—which will make a wonderful boeuf bourguignon. What is left of the body (shoulder, neck, lower legs, and short ribs) can either be ground into hamburger or sausage or used for a stew. Wrap all the meat in plastic and refrigerate.
Your choices are inexhaustible once you are ready to cook your meat. A popular option is to spit-roast it in glossy chunks to have alongside an apple slaw. Eating woman meat alongside apples, apricots, or figs is symbolic of Eve, of woman’s causation of original sin. Likewise, an oven-baked rib is a brazen play on how woman was created from Adam’s rib bone. You can also flash sear the meat and present it on a bed of edible flowers and pomegranate seeds as an ode to Persephone. Or with a wreath of artichoke leaves as tribute to Cynara. The good news is you’ll never run out of ways to cook and honor this meat. It contains multitudes.
Finally, to drink: a cheeky white or pink lady cocktail will suffice. You’ll need triple sec, gin, egg white, lemon juice, zest, and a maraschino cherry to garnish.
Footnotes
1 The oldest distilled type of brandy from baco blanc, colombard, folle blanche, or ugni blanc grapes and aged in an oak barrel preferably for ten years.
2 Don’t spit them out.
3 At this point, you have the option of requesting I be placed back in the tank to prove I can still swim.
4 In China, the Yin-Yang dish is made similarly, where the body of a fish is fried in oil. Its head remains alive after its body has been cooked.
5 If you think this is inhumane, why don’t you investigate my slinkier cousin: Slink veal is taken from a slaughtered female cow who just happens to be pregnant. Though illegal in the U.S. and Canada, I hear the mouthfeel of slink is biblical.
6 Wüsthof makes a great one.
7 All are under the assumption they’ve entered a beauty pageant, but in reality, (poor girls) it is more akin to a cattle auction.
8 Undoubtedly, all the women will be manicured and pedicured, primped and plucked to perfection, tweezed and hairless as naked mole rats.
9 Hardly any can achieve a flawless score, but the closer you get, the more valuable the meat.
10 It is best not to prolong this part. The death should be as painless as possible, so the animal isn’t stressed, ruining the flavor of its meat.
11 The head Japanese sushi chef, which translates to “in front of the board.”
12 Make sure to squeeze the heart of any last blood.
13 Any discarded offal can be sold to butcher shops or factories that make cosmetics, razors, and diet supplements. The hair can be reused to make hairbrushes.
14 Remember, at this point the carcass is headless.
Lindsay Forbes Brown received her MFA from American University, where she served as Editor-in-Chief for FOLIO. She is a Kenyon Review and Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference alumnus and is currently Assistant Editor for Grace & Gravity. Her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and is featured in or forthcoming in Barcelona Review, Cimarron Review, Gargoyle, Hobart, J Journal, JMWW, Off-Chance, Pembroke Magazine, So to Speak, Sonora Review.